


Oh, the skies, tumbling from your eyes

by Erisandmira



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Cheating, M/M, Possessive Tom Riddle, Unhealthy Relationships
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-16
Updated: 2020-02-19
Packaged: 2021-02-28 02:14:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,817
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22746133
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Erisandmira/pseuds/Erisandmira
Summary: In which,  Harry Potter can't stay away from Tom Riddle.
Relationships: Harry Potter/Ginny Weasley, Harry Potter/Tom Riddle | Voldemort
Comments: 15
Kudos: 117





	1. Chapter 1

* * *

Ginny Weasley has scorching red hair that blazed in the morning light and framed her freckled forehead.

Ginny Weasley smelled of chamomile, summer and flying.

Ginny Weasley was a shameless blanket hogger that more often than not left Harry blanket-less and shivering.

She was a lot of things: a marvelous Quidditch player, mischievous little sister, loyal friend and wonderful fiancé.

But one thing she wasn’t, Harry realized with rapidly-growing horror, and was the person in bed with him. No, instead of the sight of his fiancé, Harry woke up to dark eyes on him – possessive, smug eyes that cut _deeper_ than a knife ever could.

_Tom- **fucking** -Riddle._

Elegantly sprawled out on the oversized bed they were in, completely uncaring for modesty, Tom stretched out those long legs, showing off his powerful thighs and well-muscled calves. A tingling wave of desire swept through Harry and he took a moment to savor the view before shame and guilt sullied it. He inhaled, then exhaled Tom scent.

Harry closed his eyes, “Fuck.”

“Gladly,” Tom smirked.

* * *

Ginny busted into his life one summer in an explosion of glitter and fury. She demanded his respect, defended his life, chastised his bad choices and captured his heart.

She raced him in Quidditch pitch and snogged him in the broom closet. She taught him laugh loudly without shame, the best way to mix firewhisky and Nettle wine, and how to _love_ recklessly.

She told him to be himself, because there existed no one better and she would kick his ass if he thought anything else (no one could insult her loved ones, not even themselves).

She became the burning light in his life.

Tom Riddle on the other hand…

* * *

"This was a mistake."" Harry said, pacing beside the bed, “a terrible mistake.”

Tom just lifted an eyebrow.

"It can't happen again," Harry glared at him, "I love Ginny."

"Of course," Tom said amiably, wearing an amused expression, the one where his mouth wasn't even curved but he was smiling anyway. Nothing good ever followed that expression.

Harry narrowed his eyes, his suspicion only building when Tom rolled out of bed smoothly and lithely, and began picking up his discarded clothes. Something too close to disappointment simmered inside him as Tom covered up sinful behind with those dark trousers. 

"This was a mistake," Harry said again a little uneasily, because Tom was behaving un-Tom like, which could only mean there was a very Tom-ish scheme he was missing. 

" _A terrible mistake_ , darling,” Tom mocked as he fastened the buttons at the front of his shirt, “Repeat it a couple of more times, and I have no doubt you’ll succeed in making yourself believe it's true.”

“I don’t need to convince myself; it’s the truth!” Harry growled. The urge to throw something at Tom filled him with vivid, furious want. It was not – it was not _fair_ that Tom was so unfazed when Harry was burning with so much _shame/guilt/ desire/anger._ Tom was not allowed to act like this meant nothing, not again.

“Being with you is always a mistake,” Harry said with as much venom as he could.

Tom rolled his eyes, “Don’t be so melodramatic.”

"What, because that is your thing?” Harry said, sarcastically. Then he frowned, once again reminded that, yeah, being an overdramatic asshole was Tom Riddle’s thing. When he wasn’t a being an emotionally stunted icy-brick, that is.

Their third last fight, Tom had threated to set _fire to everything Harry loved and how **dared** he walk_ way.

"I suppose," Tom allowed, " Hypocrisy and victim-mentality is more up your ally." His expression changed from mild exasperation to faintly surprised with a glance at clock on his wrist. Tom was now fully dressed, white shirt and black trousers framed by navy-blue robes. He looked sharp, poised and suave. The only thing ruining the image of smooth perfection was the tousled bed hair – which Harry had played a large role in creating, _running his finger through it gently at first, then pulling hard as Tom thrusted harshly and hit just the right spot._

Tom straightened his back and stalked over. Dark eyes gleaming when Harry let out a startled sound. Humiliated, Harry crossed his arms over his chest to look stern and determined. Tom stopped just in arm's length and looked at him. "While I usually don’t mind indulging you, _darling_ , I’m afraid I’m running on short time.”

Harry blinked, "Oh. Okay?" 

Tom tilted his head, slowly, his gaze shifted downwards, taking in Harry’s naked from head to toe. Red dusted Harry’s cheeks and he almost ducked his head, before thinking better of it and defiantly meeting Tom’s eyes, soliciting a smile from the other man. Heat lingered in Tom’s stare, dark and potent, but his voice was cool when he said, “You can walk away from here, wash up and go home to Ginny, either to confess or to pretend this never happened. Either way, you’ll utterly convince yourself by tomorrow morning that I manipulated you into my bed and swear never again. But, it will happen again, maybe next week, maybe next month, or…perhaps you’ll manage a year this time.”

Harry shivered, feet rooted to the ground. He wanted to run, to hide. But there was something there, something within him that wouldn’t allow for him escape. An intuitive sense that somehow, the time to resist had already run out, a like noose tightening around his neck. His voice shook when he asked, “Or you could stay away? Respect the relationship between me and Ginny?”

Tom scoffed, “Why? You certainly don’t.”

Harry flinched.

Unexpectedly, or perhaps not, Tom’s expression softened – the way it often did since that incident. They had been nine, stupid and close in way growing up managed to completely ruin. Harry still remembered running straight into traffic trying the save that annoying snake-companion Tom had been obsessively talking to the last weeks. He hadn’t even liked that best-friend-stealing-serpent, and Tom was so smugly all the time because Harry couldn’t speak to it, and it bit him once…but none of that had mattered, because that snake had _mattered_ to Tom.

It had only been because Tom had pulled him out of the way with his prodigious magic that he’d avoided getting hit. Tom pulled him back violently that Harry had crashed right into him and they stumbled backwards scraping their knees. The snake was flattened a second later by the oncoming car.

And Tom…Tom had just stared out at the red smear of guts on the pavement, his grip on Harry painful and bruising. He turned with this look like he couldn’t believe Harry had made him worry that much – fear, rage, disbelief and worry etched his face.

Tom was looking at him in similar way now; like he couldn’t stand the thought of him being hurt. Hypocrite.

At some point, Harry’s arms had unfolded, not through any conscious decision. Tom stepped into that empty waiting space and cupped Harry's cheek gently. "Darling, it hardly matters. I’ll take care of you regardless," Tom said softly.

Harry closed his eyes, feeling something inside him break to pieces, because Tom always knew how to twist the knife. Sometimes, Harry wondered if the other man hated him, and if hate was bruising kind of love to Tom Riddle.   
  



	2. Chapter 2

* * *

_Yule 1995, Hogwarts_

On the shortest day of the year, Harry woke up gasping for air in a mostly empty tower decorated with crimson and gold. The familiar colors gave the room around him an illusion of warmness, but without its usual inhabitants, it rang hollow.

“Tempus.”

Four A.M.

Harry let out a soft sigh, wiping his sweaty forehead with the inside of his wrist. He was so tried. Having spent most of the night tossing and turning in bed, hoping for a normal dream, but nightmares have been obsessively haunting his sleep lately.

_~~Cupboard under the stairs. Rat. Dementors. Full-moon. Ministry of Magic. Death. Execution. KISS. Siri-.~~ _

He was so fucking tired. Peace was all he really wanted, one dreamless night was all he needed, yet nightmares filled his head so persistently that he could feel his mind getting weaker. Hermione would say that it was only natural, that he had experienced lots of upsetting things. A wry smile twisted Harry’s lips, because he could almost hear her say, _‘Harry, you need to speak to Madam Pomfrey’_ , in that half-concerned, half-bossy tone of hers.

Ron would nod in agreement, but he would interfere immediately the second he noticed how uncomfortable their concern was making Harry.

Wonderful friends, both of them. Harry could be happier they were far, far away.

There something dark simmering just beneath his skin, something violent and enraged. Because while his friends might reflect on his orphan status and think _poor victim_ , they might catch snips of his relationship with the Dursleys and feel _pity_ , they might’ve attended his godfather’s funeral while trying their best to show _sympathy_ , but sometimes all Harry could manage was burning rage.

Once, Harry met a boy with dark brown eyes that matched the dirt clinging to his second-handed pants. A boy whose steps was also closely followed by whispers of freak, a boy with a bruised chin and a smile dripping casual cruelty as he scoffed, “I- we’re _not_ weak.”

How bloody typical, Harry thought as he pressed his face against the pillow. He had put in a staggering amount of effort avoiding thoughts about Tom Riddle, burying their memories together the way one might do a departed loved one, but Tom would not be Tom if he didn’t slither pass Harry’s defenses the moment he let his guard down.

 _God_ , Harry wanted - needed to see him. Sorrow pierced his heart, leaving a gaping wound, one more than ready to be infected by the likes of Tom again. He craved to badly to be seen by someone who wouldn’t look at him like, like…he was broken.

* * *

They were once kids.

They were once _friends_.

They were once sorted in different houses, rival houses, and somehow bit by bit, that tore them apart. Slytherin and Gryffindor did not mingle. For a little while, Tom and Harry ignored that rule, like they disregarded every decree that inconvenient them. Yet, Tom struggled in his new house, so he adjusted his opinions, his views until they aligned with the Slytherin house’s doctrines.

Tom greeted prejudice and hate with a calculated smile. He fell from Harry’s grip and into the darkness, and even after several years had rotted away and Harry still missed him.

Now, the sun broke through the horizon and slowly began sweeping over the snow-covered field. The lake had been frozen solid for a while now and the forest was littered with gnarled branches and tree-trunks stripped white by the elements. Under the soft and bright sky, Tom Riddle was casually smoking a cigarette. 

At the sound of Harry’s footsteps, Tom’s head turned, sunlight sparkling across the back of his dark hair and wisps of silver grey smoke leaving his lips. Dressed in an expensive winter coat dyed with a dark and rich hue of green, Tom stood out starkly against the white snow. It was as if the world was canvas that only existed so the masterpiece called Tom Riddle could came to life.

Dark eyes tilted into something almost soft as they met Harry’s, and that was how their story resumed: two boys, locking eyes across a sea of white.

Heart hammering, Harry continued forward, taking a deep breath as willingly fell into Tom’s orbit. The Slytherin prefect was leaned against a barren tree, surprisingly nonchalance considering he was partaking in a very muggle activity, but hey, what did Harry know about proper pureblood etiquette?

“ _Harry_ ,” Tom spoke his name softly, almost caressingly, “To what do I owe this pleasure?”

Harry stared, allowing himself to really look at him for the first time since the other boy had sneered ‘ _mudblood_ ’ at Hermione in their second year. To truly see the handsome, aristocratic champion of pureblood supremacy that Tom Riddle had grinded, bloodied and reassembled himself to cultivate.

Once again, his old friend seemed like a stranger. Harry shrugged, “I don’t suppose ‘dunno’ is acceptable?”

Tom took a long, deep drag, exhaling a cloud of smoke into the air. He was wearing a pensive expression, one too attractive not to have been practiced, before saying, “Its not, but you rarely strived to be _acceptable_.”

True enough.

* * *

Later that evening, after some hesitant attempts at reconnecting – well, on Harry’s part at least, Tom acted as if the past years of ignore each other never happened, they fell into an all-too familiar bickering.

“ _Tom_ , you can’t just shoo away my – um, acquaintances?” Harry scolded, feeling somewhat bad for the scare Tom had given Colin Creevey earlier, sure the younger boy was annoying with his habit of taking pictures of him without consent, but threatening to break his camera seemed a little extreme.

Tom was, unsurprisingly, not feeling a speck of guilt for his actions. The Slytherin paused for a moment as his eyes darted around Harry’s room (Harry had smuggled him in Gryffindor dormitory with the aid of the invisibility cloak). Dark eyes lingering on the bed, Tom asked, “Say, how many of your roommates chose to remain in Hogwarts this holiday?”

Harry blinked. Partly because of the abruptness of the question and partly because of Tom’s tone. “Err, none? It just me,” Harry said carefully.

“Well then,” Tom said, as if he’d just explained something.

“Well what?” Harry asked puzzled.

Tom took a step forward, his sharp, handsome face lit with expectations. Once again, he looked at Harry in a mild but meaningful way. Harry remained completely blank, until Tom said, “You can’t _actually_ be this oblivious, can you?”

“What?” Harry said, and then realized - “ _Wait._ ”

Face flushed, Harry jerked his head away to stare at the ceiling, pleading for mercy from higher powers, because Tom Riddle – that devil – continued completely casually, “This is a golden opportunity. It not often one can indulge oneself in pleasures without any fear of interference here in Hogwarts. The obnoxious colors Gryffindor does damper the mood a little bit, but I _suppose_ it’s a small price for a proper bed.”

“I- I, we are _not_ going shag,” Harry leveled a withering look at him. His face felt so hot that he almost feared he was on fire. Damn it. Why – bloody hell! Tom couldn’t _just_ say something like that out of the blue.

Slowly, Tom made his way towards the bed, sitting on the edge and brushing his hand over the crimson sheets. He looked confident, alluring and so smug. A frisson of irritation reared its head as Harry watched him.

Tom tilted his head to the side, a hint of teeth flashing as he said, “You invited me over to your _vacated_ room after barely talking to me in three years, divulging to me that you have had ‘troubles sleeping’ and ‘could use some company’. Really, _Harry,_ I hardly see the need to play coy now.”

Well, when you put it like that…Still Harry could hardly meekly go along with what Tom was saying, the other boy was offensively self-assured right now. Harry’s lips twisted into a furious snarl, “That’s a lot of assumptions you are making there, perhaps you should get your head out of your arse for one second and reconsider if they are the right ones?”

“You are certainly getting worked up. Are you under a vow of chastity or something?” Tom’s eyes gleamed with delight, “Could it be…you are virgin Harry? How _preciouses_.”

Harry bristled before thinking – _screw it_ , and tackled Tom. The arsehole let out a startled sound before the air was knocked out of him. The bed groaned underneath their combined weight. One moment Harry was practically strangling Tom, the next their positions were flipped and Harry was breathless and pinned down by the dark, penetrating eyes above him, which seemed to drink him all in.

Tom smiled, dazzlingly, and said with a voice caught on the sharp edges of something dark, “You can thank me later for _indulging_ you."

"Why wait? Thanks for being a presumptuous and infuriating prat," Harry’s smile was savage.

A soft sound, maybe a laugh, left Tom’s mouth before cold fingers touched the nape of Harry’s neck in a gentle caress. “Oh, Harry.”

True to Harry’s words, they did not shag that night – because Harry was more stubborn than horny, at least at the point of his life. Harry woke up peacefully without any nightmares; the warmth of Tom on his skin and the scent of him in him nostrils, their limbs were entangled and Harry’s face pressed against Tom’s neck.

Tom tightened his grip around his waist and said conversationally, “Have you gotten over the prudery yet, or is it going to take a few more hours?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you guys like this chapter! Thank you so much for the support, I love reading your thoughts, so pretty please keep them coming :D

**Author's Note:**

> Please let me know what you guys think, reviews fuel my writing :D


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